


alive, with closed eyes (to dash against darkness)

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, CousyWinter, Drabble, Dystopia, F/M, Prompt Fic, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 07:28:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13230903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: Daisy knows this might not last, that he might be gone tomorrow, but she's thankful for the company anyway.





	alive, with closed eyes (to dash against darkness)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skyepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/gifts).



> Written for #cousywinter :)
> 
> I'm not watching atm, so I haven't seen any of Season 05, sorry.

Daisy keeps wanting to say that everything here looks like it could be from _Blade Runner_ but since the resemblance is so eerie, and since Coulson probably hasn't been getting any sleep for days and days, she doesn't say it. To be honest, she doesn't know why he's sticking around. It's not like she's the good guy here. Or at least, that's what everyone keeps saying, that it's _that Inhuman's fault_ , so she's been spending the past few days under the shadow of a hoodie. 

And Coulson is always there in the evenings, without fail. They don't speak much, because there's not much to say. Daisy knows this might not last, that he might be gone tomorrow, but she's thankful for the company anyway. She's trying to hunt down a guy who might know how they could get on board of a smuggler's ship. Coulson is most probably trying to do the same thing, or at least he's trying to find a way back, too. She really hopes he's going to stay, that he's going to be around until they both find a way, but after what has happened, she's been forcing herself not to take anything for guaranteed. Not when her face is all over the walls and lampposts. 

On some days, it feels like she's lost count, like she doesn't know what day it is on Earth, but the truth is that she's been reciting numbers to herself ever since the explosion, while washing her face, when sneaking around the perimeter, before going to sleep. Saying she isn't exactly aware of where they are on a terrestrial timeline would be a lie.

Then, one morning, he's gone, and so is his jacket. Her first thought is that he's made it, that he's found a way for him to get back, and it makes her feel happy for him and want to cry at the same time. She decides she won't allow herself any tears until the evening. Until she knows for sure. But her heart sinks at the thought that she might just as well never see him again. It's unlike Coulson to leave without goodbye. It's unlike Coulson to leave. But she can't allow herself to trust her imagination, can't stand the thought of him sticking around even though she doesn't deserve his company. It's probably for the best.

She spends most of the day hunting through black market corners, negotiating with shady types who never keep their eyes at a level, gesturing around, running their dirty fingernails along her forearm as they turn to show her another object she won't have use for. It's exhausting, and maybe it's just this day in general, but Daisy hasn't felt this slow and empty in months. When she sits down at the makeshift table, it feels like she's aged years today. She tries to imagine removing the second chair but decides she couldn't bear it, couldn't live with the finality of it.

"Hey."  
For a moment, she's convinced she's hallucinating, but there is no other voice like that, not in this world, not in any other. She turns around very slowly, trying to expand time.  
It's him. Of course it's him.  
She needs to swallow first. Her voice sounds like it hasn't been used in a long time. He still seems to recognize it.  
"I thought you were gone."  
It hurts to see how shocked he is. Then she sees his face do the thing where he's trying to make away with something, trying to will away a feeling so as not to upset her. She hates that he thinks he needs to do that, but it makes her want to hug him all the same.

"I was looking for something." He lowers his eyes. "It took a while."  
She wants to ask, but she can tell this is very important to him, she can tell he's going to show her anyway. He fumbles around in his jacket pocket.  
"I know you've been keeping track of time," he says, and she feels a little embarrassed, until he takes out a short, burnt-down beeswax candle, lights it with a trembling hand and sets it down on the table very carefully, like it's their most prized possession.

She can't help it, she's suddenly sobbing, staring at the tiny, shabby candle like it's the last thing she expected, like it's the first good thing she's seen since it happened. It barely takes him a second to move in, to wrap his arms around her and hold her like she could dissolve any moment now. Time almost stands still until she isn't shaking anymore.  
"Thank you," she whispers.  
"Merry Christmas."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! ♥
> 
> I took the title from an e.e. cummings poem ( _i will wade out_ ).
> 
> The prompt was [THE SADDEST LITTLE SPACE HOLIDAY CELEBRATION EVER].


End file.
